


Shadow of the Flame

by Sterling_Gray



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Blood and Injury, Gen, Torture, Trent Ikithon Being an Asshole, Violence, Volstrucker, Warning: Trent Ikithon, ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:14:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25508059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sterling_Gray/pseuds/Sterling_Gray
Summary: Everyone thought when Caleb became Caleb, Bren was gone. No, he never left. In fact, he has now returned to the side of one Master Trent Ikithon. With his loyalties in question, Bren must prove who he truly is.
Comments: 16
Kudos: 53





	1. Silver on His Fingers, Eyes on His Back

As the fire died down, those still standing quietly took stock as the waters stopped churning. It had been a rough battle, the lifeless bodies of Not-Veth… of Veth and of Beauregard drifted softly in the currents as Caduceus and Jester swam to them. Blood floated all around like rusted fog but Vokodo, or at least the corpse of the monster was slowly sinking, the fiery light within dimming and darken the whole chamber. Caduceus had stared at Caleb as he swam up to Beau, and the ginger looked away. It seemed their local cook had seen what he had done. Caleb carefully stuffed the phosphorus coated cat’s cradle back into his bag, the soot mixing with the silver powder already covering his hands. He kept his eyes forward, waiting patiently. He had a feeling the time had come.

Maybe it was years of studying the Arcane. Maybe it was the time spent so close to them over nearly half of his life. Either way, he knew who it was that came calling the second the teleportation circle began to form. He began to swim towards it, drawing the attention of his companions. No one else had seen the spell begin to form.

“Caleb…?” Veth’s raspy voice brought no comfort to the ginger as he swam, his movements sure and without pause. No sooner had he moved about 50 feet away, did he spot the familiar form of Master Ikithon, and the bulking shoulders of Eodwulf. He heard the Mighty Nein begin to understand, the missing amulet never far from any of their minds. He listened as the water began to churn as the group re-assembled, ready to fight once more. But, before they got too close, Caleb spun around, his cloak billowing in the waters as he slapped his hand on the palm of his other, squelching the phosphorus and drawing a wall of fire between the two groups. 

Arcane magic fire did not last long in the deep waters, but as the flames sputtered and died, no one moved. Oddly enough, it was Caduceus, holding onto Beauregard, that spoke first, drawing everyone’s eyes. Except for Beauregard. Beauregard kept staring at her fellow human, hand slightly raised, as if reaching for her brother. Caleb ignored her, disinterest causing his face to have a blank look to it. 

“He was the one who knocked out Veth and Beau, not Vokoda.” Caduceus voice was steady, carrying well through the calm waters, and caused many of them to turn. Beau stared straight into Caleb’s eyes, searching. Caleb drifted there, face neutral, and eyes cold, “The Web of Fire- 3 of the attacks were aimed at Vokodo, but the other two, they hit Veth and Beau from behind. It’s why no one saw the attacks coming.”

“Your friend speaks the truth.” Ikithon’s voice rang out, the accent heavy and hangs in the water, somehow thickening the water. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Jester hissed a bit as his Master spoke, but did not move or flinch. He let his gaze leave Beauregard’s face, and drift onto the others. Veth was frozen, her face cracking like the mask she once wore, Jester looked like she was crying, but the water hid her tears. Fjord said nothing, his eyes trying to understand, and Yasha… it almost looked like lightning was beginning to crackle around her and her face looked quite scary. He refused to flinch, instead making solid eye contact with the barbarian before looking towards Caduceus. The firbolg was the only one with a curious expression.

“We have been watching you over the past few days, and it seems my lost lamb has recovered himself while he was with you.” Trent’s words caused a few people to jerk backwards, recalling as of late the series of odd events, silver gone missing from money pouches, and how Caleb had caused a few accidents across the camp. At least twice he had woken the group up to false alarms and had accidentally broken Veth’s crossbow. As the realization came across their faces, they all seem to darken, and Caleb could see both Yasha and Beauregard’s jaws clenched. The only face that didn’t darken was Caduceus. Instead, it was like something had dawned on the pink haired firbolg’s mind, before he carefully schooled his features. 

“Now, Bren, return to where you belong.” Trent had not moved, but held out his hand, the portal still swirling behind him. Caleb slowly turned, his back to the Mighty Nien and began to swim forward. 

“Cayleb! What is wrong with you?” Jester’s voice had a watery element to it and had nothing to do with the fact they were under water. The ginger paused, speaking without turning.

“My name is Bren Aldric Ermendrud. Caleb never existed. The Empire is above all.” He glanced back, his blue eyes almost icy as he spoke, “I have learned a lot of our enemy through you all, but there is nothing left for me to learn with you all.” He studied Master Ikithon before ducking his head submissively. “I would ask you, Master, to please spare them for their usefulness in ending the war, and giving us more time to study the Beacon, but..” He cast Produce Flame, the fire licking his hands as he held them behind, towards the group and ignored their gasps and shuffling. Fire might be weak in water, but the Mighty Nein had barely scraped by, and were just recovering now from the fight with Vokodo. His eyes never left Trent’s face. Waiting, like the good soldier he was. One order…..

“Bren. We have much to discuss.” It was a dismissal, and the flames instantly went out, and Cal- no, Bren tucked his hands behind his body, back straight, head bowed, and watched as Trent and Eodwulf stepped through the portal. He did not turn, and ignored as Jester, Beau and Veth began to yell, calling him a false name, trying to plead with a heartless man. 

His movements never faltered, and he kicked himself forward, the voices cut off only as he felt himself be pulled into the portal and was teleported away. Bren knew instantly he was in Master Ikithon’s study based on the unforgotten grain pattern of the wood. He saw Ikithon began to walk about the office, but Bren did not move, head bowed, hands clasp behind his back.

As the Master cast Prestidigitation and removed all the water from himself, Eodwulf and Bren, the ginger still felt the silver powder between his fingers.


	2. An Old Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone thought when Caleb became Caleb, Bren was gone. No, he never left. In fact, he has now returned to the side of one Master Trent Ikithon. With his loyalties in question, Bren must prove who he truly is.

16 days, 7 hours, 41 minutes and 52 seconds.

Bren’s arms were sore, his skin almost constantly pulsing to the beat of his heart, his body still adjusting to the crystals once more, and he had not slept the day before. He had thought training before had been hard but recalling his lessons had been a struggle. Still, the ginger kept his head high and his back straight. The only thing that kept him up at night nowadays were the messages from Jester disturbing his sleep. He had not responded to any of her now daily messages, except for the first time, telling her to leave him alone. To forget him. It had only seemed to encourage her, and she was now trying different times. Hence missing sleep as she had sent 3 messages in the night, the last just was her sobbing and asking why. Still, he arose with Astrid and Eodwulf, placed on his new mantle, white with gold embroidery, and made sure he looked like a soldier of the Empire. His hair had been shaved, leaving only an inch of red locks left, the ponytail lopped off almost with an hour of his return. 

The three stood back into the office Bren once was warped to over 2 weeks ago, at attention and hands clasped behind their backs. All three stood at attention, the white of the mantles shining softly in the early dawn light. Before, Bren would look at the floor, but now he kept his chin up, level with Astrid and Eodwulf as they waited for Master Ikithon to enter. The Master’s arrival often varied, sometimes coming right at 7 am, sometimes leaving them at attention for hours, strolling in around noon. The three never said a word, never moved a muscle. Waiting patiently. Bren had melted back into his role almost effortlessly, though Astrid often studied him when she thought he would not notice. Or she just did not care. Bren still said nothing. 

16 days, 7 hours, 43 minutes and 11 seconds 

Luckily, this time Ikithon did not wait long, striding in just at 7 am and instantly began to command the three. “Astrid, go ahead and prepare the prisoner.” With a swift bow, she stepped into a prepared circle, and portalled out, leaving the three men. Master looked through his desk, studying a report before speaking, his eyes never leaving the paper. “Bren, you were lost for a long time, but it seems the only thing that changed was your ability. Some are still hesitative to trust you, but with each day, new opportunities arise to prove just how loyal you are to me. And the Empire.” Bren noted the word choice but said nothing, merely nodding. He had to relearn verbal responses were not expected. Actions were the only language he needed to use. He felt his heart quicken at the word choice but kept himself calm. 

Lessons, just lessons. 

Ikithon approached the teleportation circle, and raised a hand, summoning the two students to him as he began to cast a spell. Eodwulf and Bren instantly moved forward, almost as one, and flanked Ikithon as the spell took hold and they were teleported. Bren felt his pulse quicken as he recognized the gothic design of the Vergesson Sanatorium but said nothing, though his hands tightened behind his back. Master Ikithon moved first, and after waiting a second, the two students followed, soon landing in the shadow of one of the towers. Bren kept his eyes trained forward as they approached the tower. He knew this one, both as a student a lifetime and a half ago, and… as a patient. He never told the Mighty Nein about his foggy dream-like memories of his time in this tower. A lot can be learned from a corpse, even more so from a living… lesson. 

16 days, 7 hours, 51 minutes and 35 seconds.

They made it to the tower’s arched entryway, and began to descend downwards, spiraling further into the darkness of the tower and his mind. He had one lapse of the fog of war that took his mind, and the lesson still pained him, enough to keep the memories away, but just barely. As they came to the landing, Bren realized this was where they often kept the traitors and spies, and his eyes fell onto the blacken door near the far end. Back then, as a student, trying to prove his love of the Empire, no one was assigned to one room. But they all viewed the charred, blackened door as Bren’s and Bren always viewed it as his. The only other color, besides black, was the red handprints, an oddly morbit habit he has picked up after every interrogation. Time had turned the red to now more of a rusty brown. Astrid stood beside the door, arms behind her back, eyes staring straight ahead. A whisper of a smile gracing her carefully schooled face. 

Without a word, the ginger moved forward, and went to the door, already casting Dancing Lights above him. Part of their training often left the target inside the room, in pitch black darkness. Bren remembered a time, once, in another Dungeon, when one of his sisters were in such a place, such a state, as he pushed the door open without hesitation, sending the lights inside. 

The 4 globules of light almost went instinctually to each corner of the small room, and the smell of old decay and new blood mixed together. A young man, a drow, sat tied to the chair in the center, his short white hair contrasting with the blood red stain. Bren instantly recognized Essek Thelyss. If he was Caleb, he would freeze, would try and find a way to get out of the situation. Save his friend. But he was not Caleb Widogast, no friend of the Empire, but friend of Essek. No, that non-existent man was dead. Instead, Bren glanced at his newest target and spoke for the first time unprompted, knowing what was expected of him.

“Extraction or Execution?”

“Extraction.”

“Yes Master” Bren said, beginning to remove his white mantle as he entered the room. Extraction was anything but clean, and his Master would be disappointed in him if he got his new mantle dirty. 

16 days, 7 hours, 54 minutes. 

Bren rolled up his sleeves and got to work. But, oh he was tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for taking your time to read my works. Enjoy.


	3. The First Cut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: The beginning of torture. I do go into some detail, but it is not sexual in any way. Just some blood and gore. Chapter 3 and 4 will consist of the torture, and the 5th chapter will have a summary about what happened, vaguely. 
> 
> Bren begins to go to work on Shadowhand Essek

With Extraction, it was more of an art than a form of torture. In the right hands, a subject could last months, and Bren knew his hands were quite capable. He ignored the long shadows of his Master and fellow Volstruckers as they stood in the doorway, observing him. Instead, he focused on folding his mantle, a hand gently touching the clean, white material, fingers softly brushing against the golden thread of the embroidery. He then pulled out his spell components, pulling out some phosphorus and drew a circle in his hand. Behind him, Bren heard the Wall of Fire catch, exactly 5 feet away from Essek at any given point. It was in part to making the subject sweat, a bit of a show of his power, and to begin the process of torture, knowing the drow could not move away from any of the flames, tied to the chair, the heat radiating from all sides. Especially for one accustomed to the darkness. His shadow felt longer in the flames, the straight back and the two books warping and twisting his form into some sort of monstrous, hulking figure. Fitting.

He listened carefully over the crackle of the flame as he slowly, meticulously set out his spell components, and began to roll up his sleeves. The bandages had returned, snaking around his arms, though a few were spotted with blood. Bren frowned, holding his arm up, inspecting the larger spot. It seemed the body was trying to reject the crystal. Suddenly, a soft gasp of pain rang in his ears, and the ginger turned, releasing his hold on the spell, leaving the charred circle. He quietly noted the 3 had stepped back a bit, probably to avoid the heat, but Bren said nothing. 

He moved around Es-the drow, studying him. He was panting, having taken damage from the flames. Without realizing, a smile crept onto Bren’s face, and the ginger saw the drow glance up, the light shining in his eyes from the orbs drifting in the corner. He did not look scared, did not look upset or angry. No, a blank face staring up at another face. Two strangers standing in a room. Both knew this song and dance. Both knew the art of torture. Bren knew an artistic hand when he saw one. If only things had been different.  


Blood slowly dripped from the drow’s mouth, probably a cut lip from biting, to hold in the screams. Bren walked behind the drow, returning to the table. He grabbed a feather, and began the vocalization of a spell, the feather being tossed into the air, and Bren finished the semantics of the Fear spell. 

The feather fell gently, landing on the ground, the spelling having failed.

No, it never took. **Scheiße.**

Bren heard his Master sigh, and then spoke a single word. Pain instantly ripped through the ginger’s body, sending him staggering into the table. He heard a few items clacking together as he tried to right himself, only to crash his left arm roughly into the edge of the table from the crippling pain. For about 30 seconds, no one spoke, as Bren repeatedly tried to stand against the pain, and repeatedly whacked his arm on the table. Early on, he heard something crack, but the pain from the spell numbed all others. Finally, he fought off the spell, and straightened, almost instantly controlling his breathing. 

Astrid looked disgusted, Eodwulf looked indifferent. Master Ikithon looked angry. Bren knew his lesson over his mistake was far from over, both for not sleeping to recover his spells, and for how long it took to fight off Power Word Pain. But he had a job to do. Eodwulf strolled forward, pulling out a dagger, and Bren let himself flinch. Instantly, his fellow Volstruckers looked angry. Instead of handing over the dagger, the other drove the point into Bren’s left arm, and he was sure what he heard crack earlier had officially shattered under the impact. Luckily, he was right handed, and only need one hand for extraction. 

Bren said nothing, watching as the Volstruckers turned and left the room, having better tasks to do instead of watching one of their own fail. Master Ikithon stood by the door. Bren walked around the drow, noting his own blood dripping, falling into the burned circle. The dancing lights almost seem to cast his blood in a green tint. 

“I thought you were stronger, Caleb.” The drow’s voice had a raspy tone, but Bren smiled. He had won in their silent game. He said nothing as he finished his circle, squatting down by the drow’s right hand, carefully untying it and holding firm. 

“Shadowhand, why even pretend we were ever friends? I was simply curious about the methods yours used on our subjects, our people. But it seems you have a long way to still go.” Exhaustion made his accent stronger, and Bren could almost feel the list of corrections he would be taught later that day grow with each word. 

“You are still primitive,” He held the hand, palm up, and gently ran the knife over the artery, almost in a lover’s caress. “A cut on the artery leads to great blood loss, making conversation easier.. But…” Bren flipped the hand, palm to palm, and could almost feel the drow’s pulse quicken. Or maybe it was his own, excited for this game. Without warning, he dug the blade, cutting the top of the wrist, feeling as the ligaments give and snap, rendering the hand useless. Bren let it go, flopping the hand on the drow’s arm. “You can leave a subject untied and defenseless with the right slice.” He ran the blade over his arm, trying to wipe off the blood as he stood, and frowned as instead, more of his blood got on the blade. He shook it off, dripping in dashes and lines as he walked, moving slowly, to the next wrist. 

He repeated the process, and moved to stand behind the drow, grabbing his leg and rolling up the pant leg, cutting the Achilles heel. Blood poured, but Bren knew he had not cut anything important, just more veins were in the legs. He wiped some of the blood on the ground as he got up. By now, blood had decorated most of the floor, with Bren dragging his foot through spots, leaving scuff marks. The drow sat quietly, untied but without any use of his feet or wrist. Bren walked to face him, making eye contact for the first time. Deep in the dark pools of the drow’s eyes, Bren saw the blossoming of fear, like a small flame, casting the mind into darker shadows. A wicked little smile came across the Volstrucker’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, glad you all seem to like my work. Originally, Chapter 3 was 3 and 4, but I know I will not have enough time to get the 4th chapter to Frei, the most amazing beta, so just split it up. Because I didn't finish it yesterday, I will post chapter 4 tomorrow! 
> 
> As always, I really hope you enjoy, and thank you all for reading!!


	4. Payment in Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Torture Continues

“We are taught this lesson first, and I can think of 7 ways to still cast,” Bren’s hand shot out, painting the drow’s dark skin with red bloody fingerprints as he gripped the chin, forcing his head to tilt up. “Unless I wanted to cut out your tongue. Then it is down to 4.” He paused, and forced the drow’s chin up higher, and laughed a bit, seeing a small piece of metal sticking up, out of the neck of his coat. Bren carefully drew out the metal, a straight piece of iron. He stepped back, and held the iron up, into the light of the cantrip. “Were you hoping for a weak minded being, one that left you for long periods of time in the dark, so you could work on the locks yourself?” He softly tutted, and slid the piece behind his ear, the way one might of done with a flower. He smiled, a bit pitifully, at the Shadowhand. 

“The Dynasty still has much to learn. Sadly I don’t think you will be able to report back anything of any use.” He stepped back, doing one more pass, like a predator who had finally pinned his prey, blue eyes taking in everything, looking for any mistake, and miscalculation. He had failed his Master so much already today. He did not want to fail again. 

“Has the Dynasty realized who you are? Your connection to my Master? Were you sent here to redeem yourself for failure as the Shadowhand?”

“I came here to see what control they have on my friend.” The silence was heavy as the drow spoke. After a beat, Bren laughed.

“You have no friends here. A useless sacrifice with no benefit.” Bren took a step back, studying as the drow’s shoulders slumped, recalling another life when they were in a similar situation. When they first learned of the Shadowhand’s involvement with the Cerberus Assembly, when a man named Caleb still thought he had a heart. But Caleb could not survive in the world, not anymore. Bren stood, like a phoenix, rising from the body long since burned away. 

Instead, Bren turned to the Master, standing at attention and waiting until Ikithon looked at him. Waiting until Ikithon gave him permission to speak, though never verbally, the ginger finally spoke. “Where was our prisoner apprehended?”

Master Ikithon pulled out a file, though Bren was sure he already knew. He spoke as if providing the information was below him, which it was. Bren should not have been excited at the prospect of a new prisoner to relearn his skills again. He should have taken the time to research who was in the room.

“We caught him creeping here at the Vergesson Sanatorium, in disguise. Now we know it is personal and nothing to do with the Dynasty, there is nothing to Extract.” Then, there is only one other option for this drow. Bren nodded, and paused, “Master, may I use some of the power to cast a dual spell?” He waited patiently, and smiled Master Ikithon nodded. He pulled his magic from within, and felt more than saw as his body began to burn, green essence seemed to bleed through his skin, the droplets of blood almost glowing now as he stepped closer, the cantrip slowly failing, plunging the room into darkness. 

Two things happened in quick succession- The blood that surrounded himself and the drow suddenly seem to catch fire, but the flames were emerald in color. Bren spun around, pointing the straight iron piece at Trent, performing the hand gestures and words to cast Hold Person. The drow stared, his head slowly turning up to study Bren, his once blue eyes now almost a green color, the power of the residuum ripping through him. He knew how badly the damage would be but kept his shoulders straight.  
Instantly, Master Ikithon raised his hand, the protective sigils of his Counter Spell burning bright red against the tinged green color of Bren’s magic, but the ginger just smiled. Every move had been a gamble, but as the magic swirled around, Bren smiled a small, almost sad smile. He watched as his master stood, glowering, and raised a hand, and sent out a wave of magic. 

Without thinking, Bren moved toward, shielding Essek as he felt the wave of power rip through his mind, and the red haired man began to fall. Instead of landing on the bloodied floor of his work room, Caleb landed with a bounce on the cold, granite stone floor of the Lucid Bastion, in Rosohna. Essek struggled to sit up, his eyes wide, his white hair flaked with blood, and stares and Caleb closes his eyes, letting out a sigh, the only warmth he had felt was his own blood beginning to pool around them as Essek began to yell. 

He was so tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yea, think there are like only two or three chapters left, but, uh... hope you enjoyed. As my first post ever on Archive, I am really pleased with how this has turned out, though it is a bit short. Sorry. Like always, I hope you enjoy this and see you next time!


	5. Bringing In The Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After escaping with Essek, Caleb wakes up and must explain himself.

Caleb slowly came back to himself, the cold of the stone, the bite of manacles on his wrist and the tension in his shoulders told him everything he needed to know. Carefully, he began to flex his fingers, a bit shocked at the lack of pain in his left arm. It seemed his captors had healed the stab wound in his arm. Ikithon might have allowed that, but it was unlikely. Dungeon of Penance was more than likely. Caleb sighed, letting his shoulders sag with relief and just let his arms dangle from the short chains. They had escaped from the Cerberus Assembly. He glanced around, the darkness almost overwhelming for most, but was a familiar comfort to Caleb. He did not have his Transmuter stone, so he was without dark vision, but his ears worked fine. He heard the soft shuffle of life outside of the prison cell and figured someone would be with him shortly. His arms pulsed softly, and Caleb wished he had enough slack to claw at his arms and remove the rest of the crystals. 

At was not long until he hard a slight shuffling outside of the room. Not so much as a person walking, more like someone were now standing at attention. Caleb smiled briefly, knowing only one silent traveler in Rosohna, and a part of him was glad to know Essek had made it out safely as well. Dancing lights floated in, a soft pale blue, and the ginger nodded, glad he was not going for a blinding light. 

“I was worried. I am glad you made it through okay.” Caleb’s voice was rough, and he realized a few days have past since his escape. Blue eyes glanced towards Essek’s face, but he was not brave enough to make eye contact. The Drow hovered there, his mantle and cloak in pristine order, though he could not see the condition of the man’s hands and feet in his current garb. He studied the space below Essek and spoke once more. 

“I am sure you have plenty of questions. I will answer as much as I can, but I…” Caleb wished his hair were a bit longer, to cover his face and he winced, and studied the wall. “I might not have all the answers. But I will answer them honestly.”

It was quiet for 1 minute and 23 seconds.

“Who am I talking to?” Essek’s slightly accented voice instantly made Caleb relax. His tone may be controlled, but it did not sound full of hate or anger. An actual question. 

“My name is Caleb Widogast. But it is also Bren Aldric Ermendrud. C-Caleb is soft, and still has a heart. He, I never would have survived until Trent if I... if I…” Caleb swallowed, and lowered his head more, “If I let it know I still had my heart. So, I became Bren again. And I am sorry I hurt you.”

Essek said nothing in response, but Caleb felt him drift closer, touching his right arm. A gash pulsed, and Calen knew if it were not for the bandages, blood would have begun to pour. “The healers were able to help with the stab wound, but the incisions…”

It wasn’t a true question, but Caleb answered anyways, “A side effect of residuum- as long as a whole, unused crystal resides in... in a slot, the skin will not seal. Easier for extraction…” Caleb trailed off, flexing his fingers as he thought about how much he wanted to itch his arms. 

“Speaking of residuum… I take it you used that to get us out of there. How.”

Caleb nodded slightly. He expected that question.  
“I knew someone would be foolish enough to follow. I... I did not know who, but Ma-Trent would want to test my loyalty one last time, and I planned on getting them out no matter what.” His blue eyes glanced up, meeting Essek’s pale, emotionless gaze before the ginger glanced away, studying the wall once more. “I never expected it to be you...”

“So, you knew Trent was coming.” Essek asked, confirming the details. Still, the ginger nodded.

“While in Rumblecusp, I had to give up my protection. I assumed Trent would have found out and began to watch. We won against Vokodo, but it left us weak. A perfect time to strike. So, I went with him.”

“The rest of the Mighty Nein said as such, but how did you cast a Teleportation Circle with no ink?”

In response, Caleb raised his left arm, where the freshly healed gash still had a scar, “Residuum powder can be used as a replacement component for most spells. I still had to inscribe the spells’ sigils, so I used my own blood to form the circle and draw the runes. In a blood covered room, it is easy to miss the writing, and I had hoped no one would notice. Luckily, they did not. I used the Wall of Fire to push the others away, as anyone within 5 feet of the Circle could teleport, and gave me the beginning of the linework. I just had to break the crystal up, and so I used the table.”

“You never were out of spell slots…” Caleb shook his head, “Impressive, and a skill in reading your superiors in the situation…” Caleb flinched at the word choice but heard a slight warm coloring Essek’s words. The ginger continued his tale.

“I didn’t know if it would work, so I cut your ligaments. If things went belly up, I was sure you had a back up plan to get out, and the sigil was there. I was worried Trent would counter spell the Teleportation Circle, so I cast Hold Person.” He glanced up, but did not make eye contact, landing somewhere around the chest area, “Sure we might get away, but he wasn’t sure what I was sending his way….” Caleb trailed off. 

The silence enveloped them once more, and Caleb lowered his head in exhaustion. He had survived. Suddenly, Essek touched his head, causing the ginger to flinch. The touch was gentle, and soon, he relaxed after a few seconds. “You survived…” Caleb looked up, surprised to see the Drow squatting in front of him, his eyes full of compassion, “You went with a monster, and somehow survived...” His pale finger came across his cheek, and Caleb was shocked to see moisture at the tip of his pale fingers. Sometime during the conversation, Caleb had started crying. The ginger tried to duck away, but Essek cupped his chin, a softer parody to his own grip a few days earlier. 

“I am glad I found you safe, my friend. Caduceus thought as much, you were trying to protect the group, but until we had heard your side, it would be believed you were truly a traitor.” 

Caleb wondered how much a previous conversation, on a boat almost a month ago, was being returned, but could not speak about that moment- The walls were thin, and he would not get Essek caught after everything they went through. The drow stood, and Caleb glanced at his hands, noticing not even a scar from his cuts. Essek must have caught on and smiled.

“You are truly skilled with the knife as you are with magic. The clerics said they could have used the mending cantrip to heal such a perfect tear.” Caleb couldn’t stop the sad smile that came across his face. In so many words, the drow had offered a forgiveness the ginger never would have asked for, nor deserved. But he had somehow found himself amid some of the kindest people to ever exist. 

“Of course, you will stand trial, but with what we know of the Cerberus Assembly and what you have told me and I found out, I am sure we can clear your name. Sadly, you must stay here until I can find you a suitable group to manage you, those we believe who can take you down in case you really are playing us the fools…” His words might be rough, but the small smile showed he was only joking. And it was more kindness than Caleb ever expected. “You might of heard of them, Defenders of the Dynasty?”

“Ja, I may have heard a tale or two of the Mighty Nein. Have they been informed of their…. Task?” He was wondering how they had faired after the fight with Vokodo, choosing to ignore Jester’s many calls. He frowned when Essek stiffened. “Essek?”

“It would seem…” Essek spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. Never a good sign. “After their initial reports of your… departure, to take the matters into their own hands. As they do. I.. haven’t heard from them in over a week.”  
**Scheiße.**

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is my first fanfiction in a very long time. Welcome. I hope you enjoy, and hope to update every other day. 
> 
> I wanna thank two people, the wonderful Frei twitter: @rammoregina tumblr : darky01 for taking the time to help beta this story, and being the first person to read my work outside of family in over a decade. 
> 
> The second is cal @caltracat who posted the cursed thought that actually brought me out of retirement. 
> 
> So... ya. I really hope you enjoy, and if you have any advice or thoughts please comment. I have 3 chapters done, so it will be a shorter story, but I really hope you enjoy and thank you for your time!


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